


Swept Through the Heather

by saekokato



Series: Work in Progress Amnesty [3]
Category: Bandom: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekokato/pseuds/saekokato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the most telling difference between Frank-then and Frank-now is his skin. Frank-then had had his mother's skin: cream-toned and smooth. Luminous even. Frank-now had the same smooth, cream-toned skin, only three quarters of that skin is hidden behind a myriad of colorful designs. A Regency AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept Through the Heather

**Author's Note:**

> WIP Amnesty. Unbetaed. I have no idea where I was going with this. I couldn't even decide on a pairing - for the record, I'd been waffling between Frank/Ray, Frank/Bob, or Frank/Brian. Knowing me, I'd probably have gone with Frank/Ray and had Bob/Brian. :D. There was possibly going to be intrigue, mystery solving, and very anti-Victorian shenanigans. :D

Frank is ushered through the house as quickly as is possible within the realm of politeness. The servant is new since Frank's last visit, which isn't that surprising considering how long it has been since Frank had the freedom to visit as he wished. It is obvious that the servant is not pleased with having someone of Frank's reputation at the house. Again, not surprising, but the man's cold handling makes Frank's shoulders tense in a way that six months in prison never had.

Still Frank allows the man his coldness. Frank understands how the feelings can be contrived as warranted, and he isn't here to cause a scene. At least, not with the servants.

The man leaves Frank at the study with a final warning glare. Frank just rolls his eyes and closes the door behind him. The study hasn't changed much from the last time Frank was here. There are a few new paintings and a new rug set in front of the hearth, but the same monstrous mahogany desk commands the room from in front of the large bay windows, and the same leather wingbacks bracket the fireplace.

Brian is sitting at the desk, working on some papers, his ever present journal at his elbow. "You're late." He doesn't bother looking up from his work as he makes his observation.

Frank draws himself up to his full height and glares down at the top of Brian's head. It would be a more intimidating pose had Frank been a taller man and not wearing clothes that would make a shit farmer sneer. "I arrive precisely when I wish to arrive; I am always on time."

"You are late, and you stink. Mary-Annette has drawn a bath for you in the Blue Room. She'll find you more suitable attire while you freshen up." Brian scrawls a quick note in his journal. Then he puts his pen down and looks up Frank. "As soon as pigs can comfortable exist in the same county as you again, we'll discuss the terms of your employment." He nods once at Frank before taking up his pen again.

Frank does not like being dismissed as easily as though he were an inconsequential servant boy, he never has, even if he has had a lifetime of experience with the action. He likes it even less when it is one of his friends, when it is _Brian_ giving the dismissal. "You are an ass, Schechter."

"Hmmm," Brian hums. "Quite. I'm also the ass who has paid a good sum of money to keep your ass off of the gallows."

"Not my fault, Schechter. And you know it."

"We'll discuss this when you're clean again, Iero." Brian pauses in his reading long enough to glare at Frank. "Mary-Annette is waiting."

Frank returns his glare, but turns on his heel nonetheless. Mary-Annette was a life long friend of his mother's, as much of a mother to Frank as his mother had been, and Frank wants nothing less than to never disappoint her. Considering that ship has long since set sail, Frank will have to settle for making up for his disappointment as much as he is able.

But Brian had best believe that they two would be discussing this in explicit of terms as possible, or Frank will make him eat his fancy-ass pants.

|-|

The Blue Room is a bit of a misnomer as the Schechter family is ever likely to make. There isn't a shade of blue to be found within the entire room, but the name came from Gerard, a mutual childhood friend of Frank's and Brian's. Gerard was every bit an artistic soul, and he had always maintained that the room had felt blue to him. Mikey, Gerard's brother, had always rolled his eyes and told Gerard that he needed "to give up speaking like Elena, Gee. When she says it, she sounds smart; you sound like a simpleton. Just say that it makes you sad, like a normal person."

Frank remembers laughing. "Gerard will never be a normal person, and as such, he shouldn't give up any of the traits that define him as such." Gerard had agreed and Mikey had glared for a weeks after that.

The Blue Room is also the set of guest rooms that the Schechter family usually gave to those guests they only invited to stay for propriety's sake. Somehow Frank doubted that the tradition had changed in the year since Frank last visited.

The thought does nothing to settle the storm currently raging in Frank's stomach.

|-|

"You shouldn't antagonize Master Brian so, Frank Iero. That is no way to show your gratitude for the man who has saved your life." Mary-Annette punctuates her scolding by pushing Frank's head under the water and scrubbing at his hair with what feels like steel-wool. Just when he thinks his chest might explode for want of air, she pulls him back up to examine her handy work. "Hmmm. You might want to consider giving up the practice of antagonizing larger men who like to dip your head in shit and grime as well."

Frank rolls his eyes and pulls his head out of her hands. He knows exactly what this would look like to the casual observer, but Mary-Annette had practically raised Frank. He couldn't have given a number for all of the times that she'd dragged Brian and himself into a washroom and scrubbed them down after catching them playing in the dirt. He'd learned everything he'd ever needed to know about propriety and all things not listed under 'propriety' from her. That, and he really didn't give a shit what the casual observer would think.

"Brian hasn't saved my life, Mary; he's merely prolonged the agony. And why the hell would I stop antagonizing larger men? That'd take the flavor right out of living."

Mary-Annette hits his head with her torture device. "You sir, are a scoundrel, and I would insist to Master Brian that he throw you right out on your ass if I hadn't known your dear old mother."

Frank snorts. "You love me, Mary. You would never be so cruel."

"If it would protect Master Brian?"

"Yeah, yeah." Frank rubs at his face. "I suppose I should be thankful that you and my mother were so close."

"Damn right, young man." Mary-Annette hands him the wash cloth and rises to her feet. "You finish scrubbing, and I'll fetch your new clothes. Master Brian has several guests he'd like you to meet."

"Anyone I'd know of?" Frank asks. He runs the wash cloth over his chest again, wincing when the rough cloth catches on an almost fresh scratch.

"Patience in all things, scoundrel." Mary-Annette smacks the back of his head one last time before leaving the bathroom.

"Don't you think that might be a bit much to ask?" Frank calls after her. His only answer is the soft click of the door closing in the other room. Frank shrugs and goes back to scrubbing. He takes care not to catch the cloth on any of his other wounds.

Mary-Annette had had to draw the bath twice to deal with the amount of filth covering Frank's body. She's declared his clothing completely unsuitable on sight, which means they are destined for the trash fires before the night is out. Not that Frank particularly cares – he very much doubts he will ever need to don his prison grab again.

Once satisfied that he is as clean as he is likely to be, short of removing his skin and sending it to the laundry room to be thoroughly scrubbed, and possibly starched, Frank climbs out of the tub. He dries himself carefully, mindful of his several bruises and minor cuts, revealing a little at the feeling of being clean for the first time in months. He wraps a second towel around his waist and makes his way to the largish mirror over the vanity, scrubbing at his hair with his other towel.

The man in the mirror is not the same as the boy who had been tossed aside by the respectable portion of society a year before. That boy had been softer at the edges, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, and an easy smile on his lips. This man is sharp at all points, most especially in his perpetual smirk and the steel glint in his eyes. He is thinner and more compactly muscled; his hair long enough to brush his shoulders and fall forward into his face.

But the most telling difference between Frank-then and Frank-now is his skin. Frank-then had had his mother's skin: cream-toned and smooth. Luminous even. Frank-now had the same smooth, cream-toned skin, only three quarters of that skin is hidden behind a myriad of colorful designs.

"I'm not sure your mother would have approved, Frank," Mary-Annette says softly. Frank had not heard her approach, and he fight down his immediate desire to attack. She has a pile of clothing folded over one arm, the hand of arm hovering over his Lady of Sorrows tattoo. "Especially not this." Her hand moves to tap the scorpion behind his ear.

That was the first piece of ink Frank had received, just days into his incarceration. Frank meets her eyes in the mirror. "No, she wouldn't have. But she would have understood."

Mary-Annette holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding. Frank wonders what she sees when she looks at him; if it is Frank-then she is trying to remember or if she is trying to piece together who Frank-now is. "Here are your clothes. I trust you still remember how to tie this?" she asks, holding up a simple black tie.

Frank turns and relieves her of the pile. "I don't think I'd be able to forget, even if it were ten days after my deathbed."

Mary-Annette laughs. "Good. Master Brian and his guests are waiting for you in the private solar. You remember the way?"

Considering how Frank and Brian had spent a good portion of their misspent youths drinking and laughing away the days in that room, Frank doubts he'd forget the way any more than he'd ever forget the finer points of tying a tie. "Yeah, that's not going to be a problem either."

Mary-Annette nods and turns to leave. Frank touches her shoulder before she can go too far.

"I didn't kill her, Mary," he says, his voice quiet, but firm. Frank-then would never have been able to use that tone in seriousness; it is just another difference for Frank to catalogue about himself.

"Do you really believe you would have made it out of that bath if I thought it otherwise?" Mary-Annette asks quietly. She nods once more before stepping both out of his reach and out of the washroom. "Hurry up, Frank. Master Brian is waiting," she calls back before the outer door closes behind her again.

Frank turns back to the mirror and studies himself for another moment. Then he turns to his new clothes.

|-|

Frank is the very picture of a respectable rogue when he steps into the solar. He's wearing the trousers, button down shirt, vest, and shoes that Mary-Annette had left beside the door, but he has left the vest open and the shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal the upper edges of his chest piece. His hair is secured behind his head by the tie, as Frank prefers to keep his vision as unobscured as possible. His shirt sleeves are also rolled up past his elbows to reveal the ink there. He wouldn't have been able to hide the scorpion or the "Halloween" marked across his fingers anyway.

Brian is sitting in his favored leather wingback next to the fire. He is talking with four other men. Two Frank recognizes, as if he could ever forget the Way brothers, no matter how long the two of them had been absent from his life. They look vastly different from the last time Frank had seen them, but he understands that well enough. The other two men are familiar, but Frank is unable to place how he knows them.

Gerard is the first to notice Frank, and he is out of his seat before Frank finishes his first steps into the room. "Frank Iero! You little bastard!" Gerard exclaims as he crosses the room. He pulls Frank into a tight embrace almost before he reaches him. "The fuck were you thinking, getting yourself arrested for the death of your mother when we were all halfway around the world?"

Frank laughs and hugs Gerard back just as tightly as Gerard is hugging him. "Me? What the fuck were you doing halfway around the world when I was being arrested, asshole?"

Gerard laughs, then sobers as he pulls back to look Frank in the eye. "I am so sorry, Frank. It took two months for the news to reach us, and even then it hadn't told us much more than that your poor mother was dead."

"I understand, Gee. One day the world will have a better way of conducting long distance communications," Frank waves the apology off. "Don't worry. I'm going to find the bastards that did this and kill them myself."

"You'll do no such thing, Iero," Brian snaps. "The killing, I mean. And you're better off leaving the rest to rest as well."

Frank glares at Brian. "Bite me, Schechter."

"Hmmm," Brian hums. Frank notes a familiar gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps when you are not so stringy."

"Asshole," Frank counters. Not the most witty rebuttal, for sure, but worth every inch of the scowl on Brian's face.

"Children," Mikey sighs in his familiar monotone. He rolls his eyes at his brother – Frank is fairly certain it is just at his brother, anyway. Mikey's facial expressions are very subtle; Frank had been forced to learn all of the minute differences when they were all children – Mikey's verbal cues were even less accommodating than his physical ones. "Gee, let him go. The rest of us would like to say hello."

Gerard sighs the sigh of the utmost put upon – it is nice to see he hasn't lost an inch of his melodramatic tendencies in the time since Frank had last seen him – and lets go of Frank enough to lead him over to the others. "Fine, Mikey. Be a complete spoilsport."

Mikey rolls his eyes again as he stands and pulls Frank into a hug of his own. Next to Brian, Mikey is Frank's dearest friend, and Frank has missed him almost as much as he misses his mother. "You look good, Frank."

Brian snorts. "Sure he does, now that Mary-Annette has scrubbed the stink off of him."

Frank flips Brian off easily, but otherwise doesn't rise to the taunt. "So do you, Mikeyway. So do you." Mikey does, too, is the thing. And so does Gerard. Frank can't remember the last time he'd seen either of them so clear-eyed and calm within their skins.

"All right, Mikey. Stop molesting the man, and introduce us," a quiet, gruff voice breaks into Frank's thoughts.

Mikey laughs as he pulls away from Frank. It is a good sound; Frank has missed it. "Frank Iero allow me to introduce you to Robert Bryar and Ray Toro."

"Like Mikey and I, they are gentlemen of leisure," Gerard adds He grins wildly at Frank as he takes his seat on the small couch again.

"Bryar? You part of the Masons?" Frank asks the broad shouldered blonde. He looks like the Bryar Frank had met in prison. Tyler Bryar never went five minutes without bitching about his family, "those fucking hoity-toity Mason bastards."

"No." Bryar shakes his head. "I'm a disappointment to the entire family."

"I doubt that." Frank shrugs. "You aren't in prison."

Bryar raises an eyebrow. "You've met Tyler then."

Frank nods. "You two share a fair resemblance." When Bryar snorts, Frank laughs. "Yeah, the guy doesn't know how to shut up."

"Then you two have something in common," Brian comments dryly. His head is turned toward the fire, but that doesn't disguise the small smile on his face.

Frank flips him off again, merely by habit. "Did Jenna marry Carson or Neal? Tyler gave up the entire story but the ending."

"Neither. Jenna ran off with the stable-boy. They've a small plot on the other side of the City." Bryar shrugs, as if he could really care less about the situation and the undoubtedly large scandal tacked onto it. Bryar, Frank decides, is certainly someone he wants to know.

Frank laughs. "Sounds about right." Frank holds his hand out to Bryar. "Good to meet you, Bryar."

Bryar takes his hand. His grip is surprisingly strong for a man of leisure. "It's Bob, and the same to you."


End file.
